I'm the one who gripped you tight, and raised you from Perdition
by Hiddlestoner1998
Summary: Destiel head-canon - before Dean finds himself in the box, he has a dream about his saviour.


**Credit to the amazing Eric Kripke - I don't make any money from this, I just do it because I'm bored and a bit of a fan-girl ;)**

"Hello, Dean," the hunter spun round to see a single figure, standing behind him. Lips that were impossibly full and soft curved into the smallest of smiles. Eyes that were bright, electric blue gazed back at him. He wasn't too tall, but he had well-defined, wiry muscles that ran under perfect alabaster skin. Dean knew him – he'd always known the angel that stood before him, shining in that cheap motel room like the sun itself shone for him.

"Hello, Cas," he said softly. His wings unfurled around him, shimmering with many different shades of blue and framed with ebony. Silver patterns danced across the beautiful feathers.

"Hello, Dean," the angel smiled warmly. "You know me."

"Of course I know you. Even if you weren't wearing that trench-coat you know I love so much," Dean somehow felt like he had spent a life-time with this man, like his spirit remembered something he could not quite recall.

Castiel moved to his side, his lips parting as his electric eyes slid down to his hunter's mouth. Dean closed the small distance between them, his tongue tracing the outline of those amazing lips, requesting entrance that the angel gladly gave him. His hands slid under the trench-coat, slipping it from his shoulders as Cas's hands played with the edge of his shirt. He ripped the dress-shirt from the angel, eager to taste that pale skin. His lips trailed down his jaw, sucking a bruise on his neck as his hands worked at Castiel's belt buckle. His trousers slid to the ground, and Dean lifted his arms so his angel could pull his shirt off. The rest of his clothes joined the growing pile, and they fell on to the motel bed in a tangle of limbs, sweaty and desperate.

"Cas," Dean moaned against him, grinding his hips. The friction was so good, it made them both shiver. He reached for the lube that had conveniently appeared on the bed-side table, and squeezed some on to his fingers. His tongue continued to map his angel's mouth as he slid a finger into Cas, eliciting a husky groan, before a second joined it, then a third. He flicked Castiel's prostate, before sliding his fingers out. The angel whined, his hips bucking, his eyes wide with lust when Dean positioned himself at his entrance after slicking himself up. He slid into his angel with a single thrust, and Cas cried out, his hands tightening on Dean's waist in a way that was more than likely to leave bruises in their wake.

"Dean!" he cried out, wings fully extended as Dean pounded into him again and again. The angel began to work his cock, his head falling back in ecstasy as his hunter ran his hands over the blue wings, kneading and twisting feathers. The noises that Cas was making were worthy of a porn video, and Dean felt like he could toss himself off just listening to him.

Cas's true voice, high pitched and intense, came from his vessel as he covered Dean's torso and his own hands with thick spurts of come. Dean nearly screamed in pleasure, his hips stuttering upwards as he filled his lover up to the brim. He slumped back, satisfied, and Cas curled up on his chest, his wings folding over them both.

"Remember me, Dean," he murmured as his hand closed on his shoulder, sending a delicious wave of heat and acceptance through the hunter, and when he moved his hand, there was a hand-shaped brand on his tanned skin. "I am the one who gripped you tight, and raised you from perdition."

Dean's eyes slid open, and he found himself inside of a box. He cried out, shouting for help, as he managed to punch a hole in the box, pulling himself free of a … grave? He looked around, puzzled when he saw that the trees around him had been flattened. He began walking, the dream taking a back-seat to the memories of Hell and his life before. Sam. He had to call Bobby or Sam. They'd know what to do.

"Pamela will know what to do," Bobby said gruffly. "She's a psychic. Maybe the other side's been talkin'."

Bobby gave them directions to his friend's house, and they drove in silence. Sam looked cautiously-delighted, like he wanted to be happy but was too afraid the demons would yank his brother back down to Hell. Dean knew very well how he was feeling – he had that same fear.  
Bobby knocked on the front door, and a dark-haired woman opened it. Dean noticed that she was quite attractive, and her eyes lingered on him and his brother. She let them inside, and when she was bending down to retrieve the candles, Dean noticed a tattoo on the bottom of her back – Jesse Forever.

"Who's Jesse?" he asked, offhand. She explains that he obviously wasn't forever, her eyes sparkling.

"But his lost can be your gain," she let her hands trail over his chest, before winking up at his brother. "You're invited too, grumpy."

"You are not invited," Dean hissed frantically, and Sammy tried not to laugh. They sit around the black-draped table that she had placed the candles on and lit them all. They all take hands, and she closes her eyes.

"I need to touch something our mystery monster touched," she clicked her tongue, and Dean jumped when he felt her hands on his crotch.

"He didn't touch me there!" he told her, trying to ignore the erotic dream he'd had before he'd woke up. He rolled up his shirt sleeve, and felt her hand close on the mark he'd been branded with.

"I invoke, conjure and command thee to appear unto me before this circle," she intones, repeating it again and again. When the TV lights up with static, she shakes her head. "Castiel? No, sorry, Castiel, I don't scare that easy."

"Castiel?" Dean's heart quickened, and he looked at her, eyes wide.

"He's warning me to turn back," she scowled. She commanded him to show her its face, and the deafening, high-pitched shriek gets louder. "Show me your face!"

The candles flare and Pam screams as she falls to the ground, her eyes closed tightly. The others spring to their feet, crowding around her.  
"Shit," Dean groaned – her eyes had burned out of her sockets. _Castiel_.

"Why the hell didn't you tell him?" Bobby asked grumpily from the passenger seat of the Impala.

"Because he'd try to stop us," Dean explained.

"From what?" Bobby asked suspiciously.

"From summoning this thing."

Bobby and Dean are sitting in what they like to think of as their demon-killing bunker. Nothing's happening (Bobby's already tried to summon Castiel).

"Are you sure you did the spell right?" Dean asked petulantly. Bobby shoots him a glare, when a fearsome wind causes the walls to rattle. The doors fly open, and a man is outlined by the ferocious storm outside. He strides forwards, lights bursting over his head and showering him in sparks. Dean's eyes widen as he sees that sand-coloured trench-coat, silky dark hair, pale skin, obscenely-full lips. He ignores Bobby's attempts to shoot at him with salt rounds, and Dean feels nervous now.

"Who are you?" Dean asked, needing the confirmation. Those electric eyes land on him as he moves closer, and Dean quickly grabs a knife from the table.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition," he says coolly. Dean felt his stomach quiver, like he had _butterflies_.

"Thanks for that," he says and drives the knife into his chest. Castiel just looks down at it, bemused, and pulls it out of his chest. Bobby rushes at him, and the man turns, waving two fingers that cause Bobby to slump to the ground.

"We need to talk, Dean," he says, in the same serene voice. "Alone."

"Who are you?" he bent down, checking Bobby's steady pulse. He stood up, the dream still on his mind.

"Castiel," he cocks his head at the hunter.

"Yeah, I figured that much," Dean growled. "I mean, what are you?"

"I'm an angel of the lord," Castiel explained. Dean shakes his head, still not trusting him despite the fact that something within him was shrieking at him to accept it.

"That's your problem, Dean," the angel says softly. "You have no faith."

The room flashes with light, illuminating the shadows of very familiar wings on the wooden walls. Dean felt a brief moment of loss for those beautiful blue feathers, flecked with silver and framed in black, but he was still angry, for Pamela and Bobby, lying unconscious on the ground.

"Some angel you are," he snapped. "You burned out that poor woman's eyes!"

"I warned her," Castiel shook his head sadly. "My true form can be … overwhelming to some mortals, as can my true voice. I thought that you'd be able to perceive my true form, but I was wrong."

"Wait, so at the gas station and the motel room, that was your way of saying hello?" Dean asked, not sure whether to laugh or swear. "Buddy, next time, lower the volume."

"I'm sorry," Cas shrugged. He explains quickly about his meat-suit, at Dean's request.

"So you're possessing some poor bastard?" Dean asked disbelievingly.

"Yes. He's a very devout man – he actually prayed for this," Castiel looked down at his vessel.

"So why would an angel rescue me from Hell?" Dean asks suspiciously.

"Good things do happen, Dean," the angel murmured.

"Not in my experience," he retorts. "Why did you do it?"

"Because God commanded it," Castiel's electric-blue eyes are completely serious, and strangely compelling. "Because we have work for you."


End file.
